Pack Justice (Nature of the Beast Book 1) (11 page)

Chapter Eight

Long after the girl cried herself hoarse, she clung to my neck as though afraid I would disappear. I remained quiet, careful to keep my ears pricked forward so she wouldn’t read hostility in my stiff stance.

My wolf tolerated me wagging my tail to reassure the girl. Maybe he didn’t care for human ways, but he understood pack and puppies. To him, she was too young to be on her own. I wasn’t sure of her age, but I was inclined to agree.

Anyone who cut themselves due to their misery was someone who needed help, and her age didn’t matter. She could have been an old woman well past her prime, and I wouldn’t have turned away.

The barren wild was no place for a human with no fur to protect her nor fangs to capture prey. Her two legs wouldn’t carry her far enough nor fast enough to win her survival.

The bitterness of her scent, the misery my wolf and cheetah detected, and the broken way she held me stirred the human part of me I had tried so hard to ignore. Another time and another place, the girl may have been prey, but because we, as one, had decided to shelter and protect her from herself, she was our responsibility and our pack. When we saw her safe to a suitable pack of her own kind, we would relinquish our guardianship.

Until then, she belonged to us.

I bumped my nose against her, shoving my head against her chest with all my strength to force her upright.

“Hey!” The protest in her tone pleased me, as did her quick obedience. I bared my fangs, feigning a lunge at her so she would retreat in the direction of the water. The misery in her scent soured from her fear and worry. “Stop that.”

Driving her across the dried riverbed, I turned her away from her hidden blade, allowing her to choose her path in the hope she would guide me to her pack, although we weren’t willing to return her to them.

I, however, wanted to find out what her pack had done to force so young a puppy to harm herself. A slow burning rage enveloped me and infected my wolf and my cheetah.

They cared nothing for human laws and ways, and it fell to me to restrain them when their desire for the blood of the girl’s pack surged. It didn’t help I wanted blood, too, although I remembered acquiring justice in less violent fashions. My spirit beasts seemed satisfied with my intention to handle human matters according to human customs. I followed at the girl’s heels, and whenever she halted, I growled.

At first, my displeasure at her hesitation drove her on, and she followed a well-beaten trail across the barren landscape. An acrid odor stung my nose, and I turned my ears back as the stench intensified with each and every step. A fence warned me I approached territory controlled by humans.

My human paused at the wood and electrified wire fence and twisted around to stare at me. “You’re too big. I’ll have to open the gate for you.”

If I tried to duck between the gaps, my human was right; I’d either get stuck or electrocuted by the thin wires paralleling the wood boards. My shoulders came up to her hips, which was a vast improvement over when Idette had been able to pick me up by my scruff.

The wilds had been kind to me.

Since I couldn’t go through the fence and digging under it seemed like too much effort, I backed away, eyed the top and its barbed wire, and headed for it at my fastest run. My wolf’s joy at the brief sensation of flight came to an abrupt end when my weight landed on my aching left forepaw. I staggered, yipping at the jolts of pain. Limping to a halt, I glared at my uncooperative paw, sighing my resignation.

“I said I would open the gate! Dumb dog,” my human scolded, waving her finger at me. The dried blood caked to her skin caught my attention. In places, she still bled. The open wounds worried me, as did the way she ignored the injury.

I chose to ignore her insult since I had made the effort to convince her I wasn’t a proud wolf. I bristled at her usage of dumb, however, and considered nipping her in rebuke. My wolf liked the idea, but my cheetah’s disapproval held me back.

Nipping her into obedience could wait until I saw what sort of pack neglected a puppy. Once I dealt with them and tended to my human, I would discipline her. Satisfied with my decision, I followed at her heels, wagging my tail despite my wolf’s disgust.

It amused me I was able to play a dog far better than my wolf could.

Something bothered me about the fields we crossed. Brown-tipped corn was bowed and dried, and the ears were left to rot on the stalks. The girl led me through the rows, picking paths to hide her from those who might be watching over the crops.

My wolf and my cheetah were baffled by my growing concern, leaving me to deal with a situation they didn’t understand. The corn should have been harvested before the ears rotted on the stalks.

A wealth of human food stretched out all around me, and it went to waste; the human side I had tried so hard to suppress came to the forefront. Did the spoiling crops have something to do with the girl’s distress?

The blood caking her hand was the only evidence of her attempt to bleed out her life. As though sensing I watched her, the girl shoved her injured hand into her jeans’ pocket. The stench of her anxiety grew the longer we walked through the corn.

The corn field opened up to a barren yard surrounding a large barn, its red paint sun-bleached and flaking away. A dirt road lead to a farmhouse, bleached gray from years of exposure to the sun and dust. The girl’s attention focused on the driveway ending in front of the porch, and her relief was potent enough I sneezed.

Those responsible for hurting my human lived in the house, but they weren’t home. Whether emboldened by the empty driveway or afraid someone would return, the girl ran for the front door, pulling keys out of her pocket when she reached it. After several checks over her shoulder, she entered, and I followed in her wake without waiting for her permission.

If the source of her fear lurked in the farmhouse, I would sink my fangs in deep and feed my hungering beasts. Removing the threats would be my first priority.

I would deal with the rest as it happened, as was nature’s way.

My human girl’s scent mingled with a male’s in the farmhouse. There were also two older scents, both human, but time had dulled them so much neither my wolf nor cheetah could determine much about them, except they had lived there for a long time before leaving.

The male enraged my spirit beasts, for the most prevalent stench was that of his arousal. My wolf and cheetah desired a mate, and when we found her, we would build a den with her. We would mark her as ours, and she would be a willing partner to our desires and needs.

Terror didn’t belong in a den, and the presence of the girl’s fear was an acrid undertone everywhere I went, which sent both of my spirit beasts into a frenzy, and I struggled to contain their need to act. Memories of hunting justice for the wronged gave me an advantage over both my beasts. While the cycle of survival was as natural as the changing of the seasons, there was no justice in murder, no matter how much I wanted to rip the male apart.

The girl forgot about me while she prowled, peeking around every corner before entering any room. Making her way to a bedroom, she dug through one of the drawers, pulled out a bulging envelope, and shoved it in her back pocket. Blood smeared over everything she touched. When she turned to me, she pressed a finger to her lips, which I recognized as a human gesture to keep quiet.

I followed at her heels, licking my chops as I wondered how far I could go driving away the male who frightened the human girl so much she had injured herself to escape him. He didn’t need all his blood, and a few bites wouldn’t kill him.

My wolf believed in shared effort, and my cheetah enjoyed the idea of tearing the male’s thin skin to strips.

The next room the girl led me to contained a massive, antique writing desk and safe. She checked out the window, inhaled, and let out her breath in a sigh. “When he finds out about this, he’s going to kill me.”

My wolf’s alarm swept through me, and my cheetah, who was wiser to the ways of humans than my wolf, demanded action. Cheetahs were more independent than wolves, but their instincts overlapped, and to both of my spirit beasts, the human I had saved was still young.

The young were guarded, protected, and cherished until they were old enough to be driven away to find their own place in the world.

I turned my ears back, sat on my haunches, and watched, wondering what she was doing—and why. With trembling hands, she turned the dial of the safe, popping it open. I recognized several of the shapes as rifles, which she ignored, crouching down to dig in a basket tucked in the far back corner.

The jangle of metal annoyed a low growl out of me. After she picked out several items, she closed the safe and spun the dial. Lifting her chin, she stared down her nose at me.

“I should have done this the day Mom and Dad died,” she hissed, stomping by me. The bitter scent of anger mingled with guilt overwhelmed her fear. I decided it was a vast improvement over her terror, and I loped after her, wondering what she had taken from the safe.

I’d find out soon enough, unless the girl lost her nerve.

Outside, the driveway remained empty, and the girl wasted no time heading for the barn. It took her several long minutes to wrestle open one of the big doors.

A large shape covered with a tarp waited inside, and rotting bales of hay were scattered across the floor in front of empty stalls. A few rusting pieces of equipment leaned against the walls. The clatter of metal on metal shifted my attention back to the girl, who had dumped the tarp to the side.

Wolves and cheetahs had no use for cars, but I appreciated the car’s sleek lines, bright red paint, and chrome accenting on the wheels. The make and model eluded me, but I recognized the vehicle, and it stirred something in me.

The girl opened both front doors and patted her leg. “Come.”

Good and obedient dogs obeyed, so I trotted to her and ignored my wolf’s irritation at her assumption she could control us. The rich scent of leather, recently oiled, filled my nose.
 

Before she could boss me around again, I hopped into the car and did my best to avoid tearing the soft leather. I barely fit on the seat, which amused me.

Seat belts were designed for humans, but she buckled me in, and the straps pressed against my legs and chest. She shut the door and circled the car. In the time it took her to get behind the wheel, I had stepped out of the seatbelt and sat on it.

Turning the keys in the ignition, my human coaxed the car to life and eased it out of the barn, parking it long enough to close the massive door. When she returned, she buckled in and stomped on the gas. Gravel hammered the barn, and the tires spun before finding traction. She zipped down the dirt road, leaving her den behind without looking back.

A human might have believed she was determined and confident, but I knew better. Her scent betrayed her fear.